CHAPTER XVI.
“I am afraid I have startled you?” said the governess, carefully closing the door.
“I thought it was my aunt,” Carmina answered, as simply as a child.
“Have you been crying?”
“I couldn’t help it, Miss Minerva.”
“Mrs. Gallilee spoke cruelly to you—I don’t wonder at your feeling angry.”
Carmina gently shook her head. “I have been crying,” she explained, “because I am sorry and ashamed. How can I make it up with my aunt? Shall I go back at once and beg her pardon? I think you are my friend, Miss Minerva. Will you advise me?”
It was so prettily and innocently said that even the governess was touched—for a moment. “Shall I prove to you that I am your friend?” she proposed. “I advise you not to go back yet to your aunt—and I will tell you why. Mrs. Gallilee bears malice; she is a thoroughly unforgiving woman. And I should be the first to feel it, if she knew what I have just said to you.”
“Oh, Miss Minerva! you don’t think that I would betray your confidence?”
“No, my dear, I don’t. I felt attracted towards you, when we first met. You didn’t return the feeling—you (very naturally) disliked me. I am ugly and ill-tempered: and, if there is anything good in me, it doesn’t show itself on the surface. Yes! yes! I believe you are beginning to understand me. If I can make your life here a little happier, as time goes on, I shall be only too glad to do it.” She put her long yellow hands on either side of Carmina’s head, and kissed her forehead.